


Stability

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [130]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Fear, Flashbacks, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Nightmares, POV Loki (Marvel), Pre-Relationship, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: You don’t always wake up whenever Loki has a nightmare. Sometimes he wakes up alone, and thinks about you.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [130]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145





	Stability

The nightmares never stopped. Even now, after all this time, tucked safely into his lover’s bed, he still woke up in a cold sweat, straining against bonds that no longer held him. It was humiliating. You, you precious blessed thing, you never once made him feel ashamed for the ways his mind tortured him at night, but he was perfectly capable of doing that for himself. He wasn’t terribly wrapped up in Midgardian gender roles, but it weighed on him, how often you were the one to wake him, to wrap yourself around him and stroke his hair and assure him that he was safe. That was his job. Being with you made him want to be _your_ source of comfort, but all too often, when he woke up choking for breath, you had to be his.

Tonight, he dragged his eyes open and fixed his burning gaze upon the ceiling. The room was quiet. Outside the windows, it was still dark, with nary a hint of the rising sun. He did not have the courage to turn his head to look at you, so instead he listened. When he woke himself up groaning or shouting, you seemed to hear him every time. You would say his name in a low voice, and then wait a few moments before reaching out to touch him. Sometimes that wasn’t enough. Sometimes, even knowing that you were the one touching him, knowing that your soft touch could never bring him anything other than pleasure, he was too lost in the world of his dream. When he cringed away from you, you always drew your hand back, often with a whispered apology. 

You gave no sign of having heard him. That was a relief. He could hear your breathing, deep and peaceful, and once again felt something like a surge in his chest. Before you, he’d never spent much time thinking about loving anyone else. He’d read about love plenty of times, but he’d never thought about what it would _feel_ like. He knew love for his mother, or at least he assumed he did, but romantic love was something else entirely. Even now, with horrors echoing in the back of his mind, your mere existence was enough to send a thin line of peace running through him. Because you were here. Because you were safe. Because you were his.

It was something of a miracle that you’d waited for him as long as you did. He was not particularly kind or open in the beginning of things. He snapped at you too often and did his best to push you away. Each time he did, and each time you accepted his dismissal with a sad smile and a careful nod of your head, he’d been filled with panic. On sleepless nights back then, he wanted to tear at his hair because surely one day—and _soon_ —you were going to stop bothering with him at all.

But you never did. Instead, you seemed to take delight in his company when he could allow it. You could convince him to do things that Thor could only dream of, and it was not simply because he liked you more than he liked his brother, most of the time. You were more subtle than Thor: his brother was furrowed brows and a too-large voice trying to threaten him into joining the others. But you were more gentle than that. You could make your eyes go all wide and sad at him, and sometimes he caught the knowing edge in your voice. You were a little more manipulative than he’d given you credit for. Rather than making him shut down, however, it drew him to you. After all, he’d always gone for the sly maneuvers over his brother’s more brutal attempts at persuasion. Were you perhaps kindred spirits? In any case, you brought him more solidly into the team and somehow you had the uncanny ability to know when it was becoming too much for him, at which point you’d tug him away to the privacy of a quiet corner where he could focus only on you.

It made him want to do things for you, too. You didn’t need his help in a group setting, of course: you got along with the other Avengers as easily as though you’d grown up together. But sometimes he’d happen upon you sitting by yourself in a darkened room, an unreadable heaviness in your eyes which you always tried to push away when you saw him. Maybe he took to seeking you out when you were alone, desperate to keep that sadness away from you. You didn’t need much help in the gym, but he was always happy to offer to spar with you. For a while, anyway. One night he’d dreamed of fighting with you—playfully, of course, as he always did—and things had quickly shifted into a nightmare when the mad titan crept into his mind once again and forced him to close his fingers around your throat. In the dream, he’d watched confusion wrinkle your features, then terror, then sick betrayal. He screamed apologies at you in the dream, desperate explanations and pleas for forgiveness, but he had to watch the light fade from your eyes.

He woke up alone in his bed, his howls echoing from the empty walls.

He avoided you for a long time after that. Spending time with you was not worth the risk. In his waking hours, he was relatively certain that Thanos could not get to him again, not with all the precautions the team had taken when he first moved in, but he would sacrifice every last second with you if that’s what he had to do in order to keep you safe. He didn’t allow himself to look at you. He didn’t allow himself to think about the way you looked when you were alone. Sadness haunted you, he knew, but it was better than death. 

His plan worked for a long time. He was certain that the others noticed, and he often felt Natasha’s gaze on him when he ducked out of group activities much earlier than he should have, but no one asked. There were benefits to being the outsider, he imagined. He lost track of time. The days blurred together and the nights prickled with horrors until, one evening, he heard your distinctive knock on his door. You called his name, said in a soft voice that you knew he was in there, begged him to talk to you for just a minute.

He wasn’t strong enough to resist. After steeling himself, making sure he wouldn’t immediately reach for you and pull you into an embrace, he opened the door to look at you. Your face was tense, your shoulders straight, and you held a little bouquet of flowers. When you saw him, you stood even straighter and thrust the flowers into his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, breathlessly. “I don’t know what I did, Loki, but I promise I never meant to make you angry with me, and you don’t have to forgive me or anything but I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry and you mean more to me than anyone else in the world and if I hurt you then I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life making up for it even if you never say another word to me ever.”

That was the first time that he felt that odd squeezing in his chest. You were looking at him—not directly; your gaze only went as high as roughly his chin—and your heart was frenzied in your chest. As soon as he forced himself to close his fingers around the bouquet, you gave a sharp node and stepped away.

You thought _you’d_ hurt _him_. Realization rushed through him, then, and he wanted to groan at himself. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do to you when he pulled away. But of course someone as dear as you were, as precious, you’d think that you’d done something wrong. He knew that he should have let you go on thinking that, but he simply couldn’t. Without thinking about it, he’d reached out to grab your wrist with his other hand and then he’d pulled you into his room as gently as he could manage. When the words wouldn’t come, he found the courage to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into him like you’d been waiting for him for years.

You stayed with him that night, tucked against his body beneath his blankets, and holding you did something to stave off the nightmares.

But it didn’t last forever. As it became more and more common for you to join him in his bed, or for him to join you in yours, the dreams started coming back. He hated when he woke you up. It was hard to focus on anything other than his own terror and disgust, but he couldn’t help but notice the fear in your eyes when you looked at him. He couldn’t tell you much. He didn’t want you to know the specifics. He didn’t want to have to tell you what he’d been through. How Thanos had gotten into his head. How he’d made him beg—literally _beg_ and plead and offer immeasurable wealth—for death, all while knowing that he’d never relent. And he couldn’t tell you about the dreams where he hurt you. But you didn’t press him to share more than he did. You held him and sang to him and played with his hair and you never wavered even once. Not once.

Tonight, he drew in a shaky breath and turned onto his side. He watched you breathe. He watched your eyes move back and forth under your lashes, caught in a dream that he hoped was sweet. You had taken nearly everything in his life and turned it on its head. You, this soft mortal who shared your bed with a monster. Carefully, so as not to wake you, he took your hand and laced his fingers through yours. Your brows furrowed a bit, but, he noted with some pleasure, you did not stir. Despite the images that flashed across the depths of his mind, you trusted him with everything. You let yourself sleep so deeply beside him. He brought your hand up to his lips so he could kiss it over and over again. He allowed himself to get lost there, staring at you rather than obsessing over the dream that woke him. You were reality. You were real and solid and _everything_ to him. 

As he laid there, he was filled yet again with the desire to pull you into his arms. When you were awake, you delighted in it. He was strong enough to crush you, make your ribcage collapse into your lungs, but you only ever laughed and sighed contentedly when he held you. Because you trusted him not to hurt you. When he slept, your trust made the nightmares worse, but when he awoke, it calmed the storm inside him.

Perhaps you were not quite as deeply asleep as he thought, or perhaps he held your hand too tightly and roused you a bit, because, as he watched, you let out a quiet huff, whined his name into the night, and turned to hide your face against him. As it often did, Loki’s heart thudded in his chest. 

He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin against the top of your head. Even asleep, you knew exactly when he needed comfort from you. He smiled despite himself and took in a deep breath of the smell of your hair. And he whispered to you, in Old Asgardian, just in case, solemn vows to look after you for as long as he lived. 

Because you were his.


End file.
